


The Cut

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Affectionate Insults, Anal Sex, Friends With Benefits, Hair Kink, Hair-pulling, M/M, Old-Man love, Oral Sex, implied infidelity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-30
Updated: 2021-01-30
Packaged: 2021-03-16 13:56:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29083503
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: Genn simply accepted that for Varian, and assumedly other Stormwind men, hair was an intimate, soulful extension of ones identity. The kind of thing one only entrusted to someone of great personal importance. Naturally, that made what happened next quite astounding.ORThe One Where Varian Gets a Haircut
Relationships: Genn Greymane/Varian Wrynn
Comments: 7
Kudos: 19





	The Cut

**Author's Note:**

> I bet you all are real fuckin tired of me spamming the wowAo3 feed with pornographic niche-ship slash oneshots of disputable quality, huh?

Varian had always been… Funny about it. Genn never really understood why. The first time Genn had noticed, he hadn’t given it all that much thought - it had seemed like such a trivial thing. As was probably inevitable, Varian’s hair had caught on one of the buttons on Genn’s coat one day, and Genn had tried to help untangle it. Varian, however, whacked his hand away.

“Watch yourself,” he growled, and Genn had been taken aback, but manners and propriety held his tongue while Varian struggled to free himself from the snare. The second time he noticed, Varian had somehow managed to get it knotted in the coil of an unlit sconce. The third time, he had leaned a little too far over the table and accidentally gotten cranberry sauce through the ends. Each occasion, Varian had rejected assistance, a flash of the animalistic tangible in his expression, and Genn concluded that Varian really just hated people touching his hair. And as the years passed and it grew longer and more wild, it only became more of a liability.

Varian himself would touch his hair a lot, though. As it passed his shoulders and edged down his back, he made a habit of twisting the ends around his fingers when he was thinking about something particularly hard. Often, he would slump back in his throne and braid small sections, or rake his fingers through the roots in moments of ire. More and more frequently, Genn noticed the hair touches, the way he would clench a section absently when golden eyes lighted on Genn's profile, across swords, or across bedsheets. Genn had always thought Varian was handsome, though his features were more rugged than elegant, but when he touched his hair there was something distinctly coquettish about him as well. Did he know that? Genn couldn’t tell. If he had to guess, he would say not – Varian was not the sort to grasp the subtleties of allure.

One day, Varian took his hair out after they had fucked, loosing the thong that secured it and twisting it tightly around his wrist. It spilled loosely over the pillows, shining and cool, and Genn was startled by the texture brushing against his shoulder. The scent was familiar, but more intense than usual, like cedar and smoke and the sweet autumn spices and before he could help himself, Genn moved his hand to touch it. He dipped his fingers into the pool on the pillow beside his head.

He thought he had fucked up things quite badly when Varian inhaled sharply and jerked upright. With a pointed look, nearly a glare, he dragged it back off his face and into a sloppy ponytail again.

“Watch yourself,” He echoed what he said that first time, when he had spent two minutes trying to disentangle them. “and by the way, we ride out to Duskwood together tomorrow. I need to meet with someone, and I don’t want to bring an entourage. It’s too dangerous.”

Genn had been tentative, nervous on their journey, but the meeting had gone well enough and as they returned back late that next night, Varian had ridden through Elwynn his hair down his back. Genn found the sight of it utterly captivating.

He never did understand, the obsession southern men had with wearing long hair. His own son had flouted his taste, favouring a shoulder length mop, but in Gilneas he had been an exception – the fashion there demanded no length greater than the collar of a formal shirt. Genn hated to admit that the silhouette of long styles was strangely erotic, and he didn’t know what to make of how the look resounded with the instinctive, feral part he buried deep in himself. He simply accepted that for Varian, and assumedly other Stormwind men, hair was an intimate, soulful extension of ones identity. The kind of thing one only entrusted to someone of great personal importance. Naturally, that made what happened next quite astounding.

“You want me to what?”

“Trim my hair for me,” Varian said, lowering his training weapon and giving Genn a steady, glowering stare. “I can’t do it myself, I can never get both sides even.”

This tidbit of information was just embarrassing enough that it was almost certainly true. Genn couldn’t help the small smirk that twisted his lips, or resist the urge to tease him, as he too dropped his play sword and stood upright in the setting sun.

“Do I look like a barber to you?” He asked.

“You think I would let a _barber c_ ut my hair?”

The more Genn thought about it, the more that seemed like a good point, and so it was that Genn found himself in Varian’s bedchamber again, fully clothed this time and clutching a pair of gleaming bronze shears in his hand.

“If you do anything untoward, I will kill you,” Varian said, even as Genn laughed and told him he dared him to try.

“You couldn’t kill me, I would rend you before you landed a single blow.”

This made Varian scoff, but he didn’t retort. He untied the cord to unleash his tresses, and raked his fingers lazily through the roots. Genn was actually nervous to touch his hair properly for the first time, but he held his shoulders steady and his expression neutral as he watched Varian drop into the rickety chair they had pinched from the war room for this purpose. Varian’s expression was wary, as though he were regarding an enemy who might strike him at any moment, but it was also very obvious that he was trying _not_ to seem apprehensive. Perhaps this vulnerability would have been endearing, were he a young boy or a pretty waif. As he was, however, it was more just... strange. Not bad, certainly, but strange.

Varian’s hair fell the small of his back, and it was thick but deliciously soft in Genn’s hands. Unsure how to start, and having never done anything quite like this, Genn raked his fingers through the length, testing the density and trying to spot the ends that Varian wanted him to banish. If he thought hard, he could recall an approximation of what the barber did when he got his own hair cut. The gnome would pluck a hank from his scalp, and pinch it between his middle and pointer fingers, and typically he would hold his shears at a 45 (or was a 90?) degree angle from the floor. He tried to recall if he also cut straight across, blunting the ends, or if he held the blades parallel to the hair shaft to feather it out. Genn remembered the word ‘feathering’ being thrown about a bit. Maybe he could try that out?

Genn pressed his lips together, sucked a deep breath, and bit down on the proverbial bullet hard. A small wad of hair, no longer than half an inch, slipped over the back of his hand. It scattered like dandelion seeds, as it drifted to the floor.

He could feel Varian wincing at the sound of the blade snip.

“Alright?” he asked, and Genn exhaled. He hadn’t even realised he was holding his breath.

“Sure.” he said dismissively, holding the trimmed length in that two fingered grip and lifting it, to inspect that square, completely flush tips.

 _Uh oh._ He thought to himself. _That looks bad._

Feathering was definitely the way to go.

More than once, during the process, Genn was thankful that Varian didn’t have eyes in the back of his head. If he did, he would have seen all the grimacing and frowning Genn was doing, and that would only exacerbate his anxiety over the situation. Varian paid for Genn’s experimentation in the currency of inches – when all was said and done Genn had probably removed about three of them, taking his length to his mid back before he caught himself and realised he should probably have checked how much Varian wanted removed.

Oh well. This was what he was getting. Genn supposed if he didn’t like it, he could always grow it back.

“I think I’m done?” he said, only semi-confidently.

“I can’t say I found your silence all that comforting,” Varian said. “Did you leave _anything_?”

“Yes of course. Here.”

Genn parted his hair at the back and swept it forward, onto his collarbones. Varian cocked his head to check that indeed, he still had some hair left. His whole body seemed to relax visibly when he saw it, and clearly Genn had successfully removed the bits he wanted gone. With a pleased little sound, he lifted a hand to twist a lock around two of his fingers. Genn too, felt relief, and thought he wouldn’t bother to tell him that from the back, it was still slightly crooked.

“Maybe you _should_ have been a barber,” Varian said. Maybe Genn would place that suggestion in the pile of possible career moves, should he ever have the misfortune to be a refugee again.

“Maybe I should charge you for my service, then.”

Varian laughed, his shoulders shaking benevolently, and his laugh was deep and familiar and Genn felt his heart soften in the way it did when that famous charisma surfaced. With his hair split like this, Genn could see the nape of his neck - the skin there was a sweet sunkissed brown, and admittedly it was not unknown to him, but when it was framed by silky black it looked different to how it did when he wore his hair in a ponytail. Far more sensuous. He tensed when Genn brushed his fingers over the few fine hairs that strayed from his hairline there, and cast a brief glance back at him over his shoulder.

“What?” he asked.

“Do you expect me to clean this mess up?” Genn asked, not shifting his hand and gesturing down to the hair clumps littering the flagstones.

“Oh. No, I will make someone else do it. Pass me the shears?”

Genn passed him the shears. Rather than sit up and put them away, though, he remained sitting in the chair, letting Genn caress his neck.

“Scratch,” He instructed, after a minute or two of just lingering there, in silence. The request was cryptic, but Genn figured out what he wanted fast enough. When he curled his fingers against his skin, Varian shivered. Genn suddenly had a thought, as to why he had been made to do the hair cutting here, in his private bedchamber, instead of in the receiving chamber or the bathroom far more suited to this kind of task. He let his fingers creep up, into Varian’s scalp, and scratched him the way someone might scratch a dog. Much like a dog, Varian seemed to love it. He wiggled in his seat and dropped his head forward, encouraging Genn's fingers to the spots he enjoyed the most. 

“You uh. Like that?” Genn asked.

“Feels good,” came the gruff response. “don’t stop.”

Genn chortled, and despite all protests he moved his hand away.

“If you want to fuck, you can just ask.”

“If I wanted to fuck, I would.” Varian twisted in his seat and gave him a scowl – the kind of scowl that would make a lesser man wither across a war table. “Just because you cut my hair once, you seem to think I want to bed you?”

“Here I was thinking you wanted me to cut your hair _because_ I had bedded you.”

“I wanted you to cut my hair because it was getting too long to be convenient.”

Ah. Yes. That made sense. But at the same time, Genn was quite sure there was an ulterior motive.

“So you don’t want to fuck?” he checked again. Varian’s eyes narrowed, barely perceptibly.

“Well.” He grunted. “Now you’ve mentioned it.”

He stood up in the chair and began to pull off his tunic. Genn followed suit, divesting himself of his coat, and by the time he was stumbling out of his trousers he could tell Varian was absolutely a liar because with his skin bared he smelled like the woody, charcoal soap he used to clean himself. Clearly he had bathed recently, in preparation.

“You’re getting old,” Genn observed, noting the spattering of stray silver hairs alongside the black ones on his arms and chest.

“So are you,” Varian retorted, and Genn had to concede he had a point – he was no longer the strapping young man he used to be, or even the same robust middle aged one he had been in his forties. Yet still the sight of Varian Wrynn, his chiseled body marred with scars, his hair hanging loose over his shoulders and down his back, stirred all the youthful inclinations that lingered in him.

“I’m not old so long as I still have a full head of hair. What do you intend to do if you lose yours in old age? I hear that’s a common ailment among southern men.”

“No more than among men of the north. The mages of Dalaran have made great strides in addressing that problem in recent decades, besides.”

“ah,” Genn smirked, “So you have been keeping track of developments in the area?”

Varian sneered and strode to close the gap between them. He seized Genn by the front of his shirt, and jerked him into a toothy, altogether terrible kiss that Genn felt deep in the cockles of his dick. Or at least, in the metaphorical ones. Genn was no healer, any more than he was a barber, and he wasn’t sure if his dick even had cockles but he knew for sure it had a lot of blood surging into it when Varian let their hips knock together. He could feel the other man’s cock was already stiff against his thigh, and he wondered if that had happened during the haircut, or during the aftermath where he had insisted Genn scratch his scalp.

Oh yes. That was a thing Genn could do now.

He moved his hands from Varian's waist to his head, pushing his fingers deep into his roots and pulling just firmly enough to make Varian groan into his mouth. The echo of his voice made Genn’s skin prickle, and now they stood touching shoulder to hip, chest to thigh. Varian’s hands moved from his shirt to his back, pressing Genn closer so he could embrace him, with a pressure so intense it might have bruised bone.

Yes, Varian was a messy, reckless, animal-esque kind of a man, but in a way Genn suppose that just made it all the more satisfying to dominate him. Whether or not Genn really was stronger, in wills or in physique, he thought he might never know - it was an unspoken agreement between the two of them that as much as Varian would pretend to meet him with vigor and mettle, all he ever wanted in bed was to be demolished. This suited Genn just fine, his stubborn resolve was consistent in all areas of his life, and his ache for control was as profound as the ache he felt when Varian rutted his hips against his leg. Genn tightened his grip on his hair, and yanked him out of the kiss.

“Messy,” He told him coolly, attention lighting on the primal fire in his eyes, and the beguiling flush in his cheeks. Varian's face contorted in disgust, or at least in a facsimile of it.

“You kiss like you're trying to eat me raw. I pity your wife.”

“She pities you, that you’re the one who has to take my cock.”

This earned a low snarl, and a firm shove backwards towards the unmade bed.

“You mean that pathetic little prick between your legs? I could take three of you and not notice.”

“I’d like to see that,” Genn told him, dropping onto the end of the matress and kicking off his boots. Varian shot him a glowering look, but dropped to his knees and pushed Genn’s legs open to kneel between them. Again, Genn was surprised by how different he looked, the strange new prettiness that his familiar details adopted when his hair spilled freely around his face. Varian glanced up at him, strong brows set into an aggressive kind of frown, and absently hooked a thread of hair back behind his ear. The gesture made Genn's guts flutter.

“Arrange it and you can,” Varian told him, before turning his attention to the front of Genn's pants and unlacing the fabric his length was straining against. That hair was an ideal grip, as he freed Genn’s cock and pumped it firmly with his hand – Normally when Varian went down on him, Genn had to make do with fisting the bedsheets, and the upgrade was tremendously appreciated.

The mouth that wrapped around the flushed head of his cock was appreciated too. It eked a groan from Genn’s chest, the touch of his tongue proving wetter and hotter than Genn ever remembered it being. There really wasn’t anything particularly comparable, to the way Varian kissed his foreskin in fascination, a lament on the southern fashions that had seen his own taken when he was born. He stroked the base of Genn’s cock adoringly, and pressed his thumb firm against his balls, and his tongue lapped at the pearls pf precum budding at Genn’s tip. The wetness of it glossed his lips, smeared his chin, and then finally he was opening wide and enveloping Genn’s entire length in his mouth. With his hands resting at the back of Varian’s head, Genn could even push his face in further than he ever had before, guiding him down until the point of his nose pressed firmly against Genn's stomach. The way his throat constricted when he gagged felt incredible.

“Fuck,” Genn swore, releasing the pressure on his head enough that Varian could pull back and cough“Do that more.”

“Why? You didn’t choke me enough the first time?”

“You like being choked,” Genn petted him tenderly. He could feel Varian's stubble rubbing gently against the side of his sensitive shaft.

“Not like that. Don’t be rough.”

Very well. Genn knew he needed to be mindful of the man’s limits, if he wanted their arrangement to continue. He was careful to be gentler when Varian took him back into his mouth again, pressing softly against the back of his head and guiding him to bob up and down in a way that emulated fucking.

Light. It felt good. Better than good. When Genn dragged his nails over his nape and over the sides of his skull, Varian moaned around his cock and gave his balls a soft squeeze.

Probably, if he cared to keep it up, Genn might have cum from this, but Varian clearly wanted more than a face full of load today. He pulled back of Genn's length just as it was beginning to get _very_ good, and Genn felt the clench of encroaching climax mounting at the small of his back.

“Let me up there,” he entreated, and Genn shuffled backwards on the mattress enough that Varian could crawl up next to him as well. He fumbled through the bedside for his jar of lubricant, finding it and wasting no time reaching for Genn's cock again. Even though his length was still glistening with spit, Genn enjoyed the contrast of sensation that came feeling the cool, wet oil slipping over his skin.

Varian could have probably got him off like this, to be honest. It was the way they had done it when they first began to play together, and their touches were fugitive and shameful and riddled with racing pulses and high testosterone. Remembering the frantic, clumsy way that Varian had jerked him made Genn's heart skip a beat. It was very different from the refined, well-practiced way he stroked now.

“You don’t need to stretch, since my prick is so small,” he mocked, and Varian sniggered.

“I’ll do it anyway to stroke your ego.”

Incidentally, watching Varian move to fingerfuck himself _did_ stroke Genn’s ego. It stroked it very much, and made him wonder how long he had been inclined to pleasure himself like this before they started seeing each other. Had he asked his late wife to finger him? Or was it one of those things he had learned when he picked up the shrapnel of his marriage? Even more curiously, Genn, wondered if he had always had a fondness for a man’s body, like he did. He never would have dared to _think_ Varian would be open to an arrangement like this, were it not for the fact that Varian was the one who kissed him first and invited him to his chambers.

Stretched and ready, Varian moved over him and derailed his thoughts. For a moment, their cocks brushed against each other, and a spark of something lively and delicious shot through all of Genn's nerves. The thighs either side of his were strong and hairy, Genn normally gripped those as Varian sunk onto him, but today he cradled the back of Varian's head instead. His body was heavy, and tight, and warm. The slide of Genn’s cock penetrating him was shockingly effortless.

“Fuck,” Varian panted, as he came to rest flush against Genn's hips. “Shit.”

Genn pushed him over, onto his back, before he had even finished catching his breath. A few rough thrusts, and he could tell this angle wasn’t going to cut it, and as Varian cursed Genn knelt back and manhandled him over onto his stomach. Stradling the backs of his thighs, Genn forced his chest down against the pillows. His hair, dark and nebulous, spilled forward over the powder blue bedlinen, and when Genn hilted himself Varian shuddered in a way that emphasized his cock was striking him just right.

“ _Fuck,_ ” he keened. Genn bit down hard on the inside of his mouth and forced himself to drive into him harder – Varian's body was solid and welcoming, it could take a lot of force and it dragged at Genn’s length with an urgent plea for climax. When Varian began to tremble and sweat beaded in a fine gauze over his back, Genn knew he didn’t have very much longer to go. His bulky shoulder shook as he strained to stroke himself, his back curved beautifully in an arc of pleasure, and what remained of his hair shone in the light and stuck to the dampness on his shoulder blades.

Genn couldn’t contain his moan of satisfaction when he felt Varian meet his orgasm. His fingers clutched helplessly at the bedsheets, his voice cracking into a loud sound of agony and bliss. The way his muscles shivered might have driven a weaker man insane, but for Genn he simply found it a perfect invitation to sink into release and riding it out all the way.

“Good man,” He praised him fondly, stroking a hand over the small of his back. “You take that better than a professional could.”

“You fuck like a sick old horse,” Varian told him, trying weakly to shove him off. “So sorry if I’m not heartened by your praise.”

Genn tsked and settled down beside him on the bed. Varian, freshly dismounted, hauled himself over onto his back and began trying to fix his hair up. Genn had never seen it in such a disarray before, and it was spectacular. He was scowling, but the flush in his tanned face betrayed satisfaction.

“That wasn’t as bad as I thought,” he conceded eventually. “Maybe next time, I won’t wait ten years to get a haircut.”

As long as he didn’t chop it off _entirely,_ Genn thought that sounded like a good idea.

**Author's Note:**

> I toyed with the idea of Varian being so feral that he needed to be wrangled with one of those poles that animal control uses to catch rambunctious possums. idk. the mental image just struck me as real fucking funny. 
> 
> Anyway, xoxo  
> gossip Garf


End file.
